


he remembers

by Karijou



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karijou/pseuds/Karijou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game has changed him. Dave Strider is, if nothing else, better at spotting his own flaws – even if he never quite catches the implications bundled alongside them. Dave/Jade, post-Sburb, written for a friend's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livethekind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livethekind/gifts).



> This is still a semi-rough draft; it needs much tweaking in terms of flow, word choice, et cetera. That said, the story itself is intact, and as such I'm uploading it here with possible intent to edit later.
> 
> livethekind, here's to hoping you had, and will for the remaining three hours, have the happiest birthday imaginable.

“Good evening!”

“Sup.” His voice cracks just a tiny bit on the word, shifting to a slightly higher pitch than he'd originally intended, and he curses the part of paradox space that created puberty for its cruel sense of humor. The girl behind the counter smiles at that, and even though the young twenty-something's certainly pretty in her own way Dave gives her no more than a glance. He's here on a mission, after all. The quicker he's out and away from anyone who heard his teenage voice give out, the better.

The clerk leans over, getting a better look at the blond teen awkwardly standing amidst the flowers, and tries again. “Can I help you with anything today?”

He shifts in his shoes, changing his center of balance ever-so-slightly before continuing. “Nah. Just lookin' at the flowers.” The shopkeeper's face lights up, and Dave begins to regret talking in the first place. It's something about that slight drawl, the tiniest little twang in his voice – it's something he hardly even noticed before moving up to Michigan. It's like he's a Texan heatbulb, and all these dumbasses are just moths drawn to the alluring light that is his grill. He refocuses his attention on the flowers, not bothering to watch the young woman any longer.

“Are you looking for anything in particular? You know, maybe for a birthday, or a special someone's anniversary-”

“Birthday. A friend's birthday,” he blurts out without even thinking, and just like that he regrets it. This girl's digging on him pretty hard, couldn't really mack on him any more without charges of public indecency, and he's just digging his own little grave deeper by getting rid of the obvious way to avoid her advances. Besides, what's he get out of being so oddly specific? He just looks like he's in denial.

(The game has changed him. Dave Strider is, if nothing else, better at spotting his own flaws – even if he never quite catches the implications bundled alongside them.)

Still, it's her job to help first and foremost, taking precedence over any flirtations she might try in her off-time, so before she can speak again he turns back to face her. “It's this girl I know – see, she's got this _thing_ for flowers.” He emphasizes the word unintentionally, but the look on the clerk's face is absolutely priceless, and he seizes the opportunity – just like that, he's fully in control of the situation again. He smirks, continuing in that sort of vaguely uncaring, Southern lilt. “So I figure, hey, not my place to question – makes for easy gift shopping, am I right?”

The shopkeeper nods, still evidently dumbfounded, before finally returning to her senses with an affirmative nod. “Of course. Um, are there any specific colors you were looking for? Maybe I can help with-"

Dave doesn't even have to say a word this time – his nonchalant shrug cuts her off almost effortlessly. “Nah. Maybe something green, if you have it.” Of course they have it, it's all over, he can see three different plants from where he's standing alone, but this way at least she has something to work with. She grabs on to the opening, falling perfectly back into her helpful little routine, and Dave can't help but feel a moment's relief that she's no longer prying for information, or looking at him with _those eyes_. (Later, he'll recall someone being into him, but none of the awkward tension. Why would he get wound up over something like that? He's a cool guy – fuck, he's practically drowning in the sea of people lusting after him.

When she briskly walks over to the plants on display, Dave ambles alongside her, coming to a halt a few feet behind her as she begins her well-prepared spiel. He doesn't catch most of the words, ignoring the girl's rambling in favor of examining the plants before him. After a minute or so of searching, nodding at the girl's inquisitive statements without ever really hearing what she's asked, his eye catches on an odd little green bud. He points at it, and just like that the girl stops talking again.

“Think I'm going to go with that one.”

She stares for a moment more at him. He doesn't move a muscle – she heard him perfectly well the first time, he knows, and he's not going to bother repeating himself. After a few moments, the florist finally acquiesces, reaching in and pulling a single cut flower from a container for Dave, and  _he_ _remembers two years, three months, sixteen days, and five hours on the dot ago-_

 _-they'd been eating at lunch, sitting in the whitewashed cafeteria and poking at something trying to pass itself off as food. jade was there, wearing this weird mishmash of blue and red and green and pink, and even though it was the most conksunk assortment of colors and fabrics to ever call itself a dress, and technically imigrants were in fact responsible, she still somehow managed to not look completely fucking insane in it. john and rose were there, too, but they weren't as close, at another table, maybe, and jade was turning and laughing at some stupid thing john had said-_

 _-and then That Asshole had come along, stumbling towards their table like some newly born retarded monkey or something, clutching this godawful bouquet of flowers in his hands. he'd stumbled up to jade, stammering out an apology and holding out the flowers with a trembling hand, and jade had taken it before-_

“ _Oh, noooo...”_

 _-mouthing something, staring at the cut stems, that dorky little smile of hers flipping faster than he could even really process. john had shifted uncomfortably next to him, rose was politely averting her eyes, and all he could think was what the fuck had he missed in the past few weeks? the Douchebag didn't even notice the discomfort at the table, though, moving his hand behind his head and scratching at something, probably one of his zits, before finally drawing himself together enough to ask her-_

“Hey, just hold your horses.”

The clerk drops the flower as though she's been shot. She recovers with remarkable grace, though, turning with an uncertain sort of smile to Dave. “Um – is there something I can assist you with?”

He looks over the rows of flowers and vases, finally turning back to her. “You have one that hasn't been cut yet?”

“We certainly do! Um, just hold on one second, please-” And with that, she makes her way to the back of the shop, practically sprinting back what feels like twenty minutes ( _thirteen minutes, four seconds_ ) later with that same flower in a small orange pot. “There. Do you think that's more what you were going for?”

Dave appraises it, taking a good long look at it before finally nodding. “Yeah. Looks about right.”

The young woman all but deflates in front of him, relief coloring every little angle in her face as she gingerly sets it down on the counter. “There. Would you like anything else today, sir?” He can't help but raise an eyebrow at the form of address, and when she realizes what she's done she flushes a light pink. Dave doesn't bring any further attention to it, slipping out his wallet instead and paying for the flower as quickly and efficiently as he can.

He leaves the store with the pot held safely in one hand, walking out to his shitty pick-up through a light mist. He opens an unlocked door (he doesn't really bother locking it most of the time – nobody's going to try and jack something this shitty), jumping into the driver's seat and carefully setting the plant on the passenger's side. God, he loves this thing – it's beaten up, it looks like it got dragged through hell and back, and there's nothing more amusing to him than watching people back off when they see the Texas license plate. Besides, it fits him, in a weird sort of way. Probably an ironic one, even. A cool cat as smooth as him, dude, he's got to keep himself level with the common man somehow, and how better to do that than with the shitty car characteristic of his people?

( _he remembers eleven months, twenty-nine days, thirty-two minutes and fifteen seconds ago-_

 _-he was standing by this truck, marvelling at just how battered and bruised a piece of inorganic steel could actually look. jade was there, standing beside him, giggling as she pulled at his arm and pointed at the legendary piece of shit the salesman was calling a 'practically mint pick-up.'_

“ _It's a perfect match!” she'd said, trying to hold back giggles as she pushed dave toward it. “It's within your price range, and- and hey, aren't Texans supposed to drive trucks?” he'd come up with some perfectly snappy response, something about people from guam or hawaii or wherever not knowing about cars but maybe he'd listen when he got his rafting license, and then-_

“ _Besides, I think you'd look pretty cool with it.”_

 _he'd tried to figure out some way to fix his retort and respond to that, but whenever he looked at her face, whenever he realized she wasn't snickering or laughing any more but just **smiling** , the words just evaporated. thirty minutes later, he'd signed the papers and was driving out of the lot with jade grinning like a buck-toothed idiot in the passenger's seat._

 _later, he'll remember going with jade to the used car lot, seeing this absolute piece of shit just rusting away, and man, you know the striders, taking pity on the lesser beings, noblesse oblige out the ass in this bitch, so when a strider sees something as unbelievably, pathetically shitty as this pick-up he knows its his goddamn destiny to take it with him and show it the cool path of life._

 _ironic as fuck, man._ )

The drive passes without incident. Dave doesn't notice anything particularly exciting going on outside the windows; then again, it's not really like him to pay much attention anyway. For all he knows, the apocalypse might be going down (again) right out his front window. As long as it doesn't fuck with traffic or the roads, he's cool with it.

He makes it back to Jade's place, the shitty clock on the truck's radio telling him that it's about half past one as he pulls the parking brake up. ( _It's off, of course – the clock, that is. Dave knows that it's six-oh-eight, absolute and precise, and that in eighteen seconds it'll shift to six-oh-nine._ ) He grabs the flower from his position on the seat, gives it the once-over from behind opaque shades, and heads up the stairs to her apartment.

He knocks, and barely five seconds later Jade's opened the door. From his signature slouch, he manages a quick “Sup,” and by the time that's left his mouth he finally notices that Jade's cheeks are red, blotchy, and soaked.

Before he has a chance to question her, she smiles –  _fuck, how can she look so happy while she's crying?_ \- and throws her arms around him. He doesn't budge at first, and even when he does it's only to keep the potted plant in his hand balanced. “Jesus, Jade, careful with the merchandise,” and as she backs away from him it doesn't even occur to him how absolutely uncool he sounds right now. But she doesn't comment on it, either, choosing instead to finally notice the plant in his hands. She gasps, turning back to stare at him with a look of enraptured wonder, and when Dave looks away there's something jumping in his chest that he can't really identify.

“Oh my gosh, Dave, did you- is that really for me?”

“Nope. Figured my birthday was soon enough, so I went self-shopping in advance. Fuck, you know how much I love hydrangeas.” He holds it out to her with a scoff, realizing as he does that he actually has no clue what type of flower it is. For a moment, he regrets not listening closer to the young woman back at the shop, and then that regret vanishes too. So what if he doesn't know what it is? A gift's a gift, and fuck, Jade knows how little he cares about flowers. It'd just look stupid, that's all. Not the coolkid way, and he tries not to think just how little of what he's done today has even been in the same county as the coolkid way.

Jade takes it from him with the widest goddamn smile he's seen on her in what must be years, lightly bowing and running off with a quick apology. Dave stays by the front door, shutting it behind him and leaning back on it as he waits for his host to return. Seconds later, she makes her way back into the room, her cheeks still puffy but that smile fully intact. “It's perfect!”

He wonders for a moment if she'd say that about any flower, as long as it was tucked away safe and sound in some soil, but instead of fixating on that he just shrugs and smirks. “Of course it is. Guess you've never seen a Strider shopping before – we don't fuck around, we just grab the perfect option and get out of there. Can't have taken more than a minute.”

She giggles, and Dave forgets for a moment that she was even crying in the first place. “Maybe that's why! Us normal people are just too busy figuring out what to get. By the time we look up, Mr. Strider's already got all his  _incredibly cool_ groceries!”

“Damn straight.” He doesn't budge from his position on the door. However, by the time he opens his mouth again, the smirk is entirely gone. “Hey, quick question – the hell's up with the waterworks?”

“Huh?” From the looks of it, she's forgotten she was crying too. However, a moment's rumination proves adequate – her face lights up in realization barely a second later. “Oh! Well, um... I got dumped, hehe.”

Dave stares for what feels like an eternity ( _and is, he knows, closer to two and a half seconds_ ). Finally, when he trusts himself to speak, he tries again. “So, wait, let me see if I've got this shit straight – you just got dumped,  _on your birthday,_ and now you're laughing about it?”

“Well, yeah! Erm, no. I kind of did most of the dumping. Everything but the official part. I mean, I didn't really like him all that much, to be honest.” She weakly snickers again, bringing a sleeve up to wipe at her cheeks. “He was kind of a jerk!”

“Well, yeah, that's pretty fucking obvious, but-”

“Oh, you don't even  _know!_ ” Jade is no longer smiling, and as she begins to frantically gesticulate at him Dave realizes that further inquiry may have been a mistake. “He was rude  _all the time_ – worse than Karkat! I didn't even think that was possible! And- and it's worse, because this guy meant it too! He was just a real grumpypants. I mean, we are talking 'King Grumpypants  _Asshole_ of the Douchebag Nebula!'”

Dave can't help it – he just grins as Jade continues to rant. It's been a while since he's seen her this worked up over something, and he knows he should probably feel worse about it – but hey, if Jade kicked some giant asshole out of her life, he's got no objections there.

“-and he said stupid things about John, and Rose, and he told me that if I kept-”

Dave looks up as the tirade is suddenly cut short. Jade is standing there, giving him an odd look (one that seems somehow familiar – has she looked like that at him before? He's sure he would have noticed, or that he'd remember). After a moment, he breaks eye contact, suddenly uncomfortable and awkward about meeting her gaze.

 _What the hell was that?_

“-anyway, I ended up telling him that if he was going to keep saying crap like that, then he could get out, because we weren't going to be dating much longer. And then he called me a crazy bitch.”

“And?” Dave finally looks back up to her, making eye contact once more. “That's a pretty fucking crappy resolution to the story if that's it. Come on, I'm waiting on some karmic payback here, got to wrap this shit up.”

This time she looks away. “Um... no, that's not really it.”

Dave waits for three full seconds before audibly tapping his foot. “Not exactly made of time here.”  _That's Aradia_ , he mentally adds, and then he has to hold back a physical groan at how terrible that was.

“Well, I punched him. In the face.” She glances over to the living room, taking a deep breath before continuing. “And... I told him that he was the most pathetic sack of shit I'd ever dated. And then I punched him again. In the stomach, I mean, not- not in the face.”

“Hopy shit.”

There's really not much else Dave can say to that – and then she continues. “But- I mean, that wasn't so bad, except it kept going. It kept  _hapening!_ ” She pauses, just long enough to snicker quietly to herself. “See, he tried to grab my hair, so I kind of. Threw the hyacinth at him.” She points hesitantly to the living room, and Dave finally leans in and actually looks. Sure enough, there's a broken pot on the ground, soil and ruined flowers and shards of pottery scattered everywhere, and as he looks at the mess it finally clicks.

“...Jegus, Jade, are you crying over _the flowers?_ ”

The look she gives him is absolutely priceless – a mixture of confusion, surprise, and what can only be described as 'duh.' “I... oh, jeez, was that not obvious?” She scratches at her head, grinning in that awkward, buck-toothed way of hers, and then she laughs. “Well, I mean, I wasn't exactly going to cry over  _him!_ He deserved everything he got.”

Dave winces as he notices a tiny bit of dried blood on one of the clay ceramic shards, but says nothing. It's probably best to just let her finish.

“...but, yeah. I guess I'm mainly sad since I was kind of growing those for someone.”

Dave opens his mouth, looks back to Jade to ask who, to tell her that maybe they can just go buy some and that'll make up for it, and finds himself at a loss for words. She's giving him _that look_ again, and this time he puts together a little bit more of the puzzle.

“Oh.”

It's a weak response, and he knows it, but he's not really sure what else to say. She isn't either, from the looks of things – she just looks away, staring down at the floor for a moment. Finally, she stands up and smiles brightly at him. “Thanks for the flower, Dave!”

He almost stumbles over his words when he speaks again – but thankfully, he keeps his cool. “Hey, no prob. I mean, figured I should give you this in person – last time I tried to mail a flower across the continental US, everything went to hell in a handbasket. 'sides, if they weren't busy with college, Egbert and Lalonde would probably be here too, cheering you on or psychoanalyzing your fight story or- something.” Yep. Everything's under control. He has this-

She moves in quickly, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him, and he finally gives up. He does not have this under control. He does not have a single part of this under anything even remotely resembling control. He wraps his arms around the girl in front of him, returning her embrace, and he doesn't say a word.

( _Ask her._ )

He opens his mouth, he tries to put the question into a form she can understand, a form he can speak out loud-

“Try and have less shitty birthdays from now on, aight?”

-and he falls completely short of the mark. But the moment's over, just like that – she backs away, giggling at his stupid command, and after a moment Dave smirks too.

“Okay, fine, jegus! Yes sir, _Mister Strider_.” She sticks her tongue out at him, and when he flips her off she degenerates into helpless snickering. When she's finally stopped laughing, she steps back, motioning towards the couch. “Come on in already! Let me just go grab some apple juice...” And then she's off, heading straight for the little kitchenette. Dave grins as she runs off, ambling towards the couch and plopping down on it.

Maybe not today. No, definitely not today. But sometime soon, he'll get around to asking that question.

Just as soon as he can put it into words.

 _years (but not many) from now, lying in an old twin bed pressed against him, she will smile and shyly ask if he remembers when he started liking her. he'll give some standard half-sarcastic, lovey-dovey retort, of course – he can't have **started** liking her, he's pretty damn sure he's liked her since his paradoxical conception and it'll stay that way until undoubtedly paradoxical death. she giggles at that, shoving his shoulder and nearly knocking him off the small bed, and behind his smirk he thinks the issue has been dropped._

 _but when she presses forward, asking if he can pinpoint just when he realized it, he is made speechless._

 _he remembers the anger, when some stupid asshole asked her out with a bunch of dead flowers, and he remembers the vague sort of pain when she said yes-_   
___he remembers buying a car, a truck, he's pretty sure, and practically melting at the smile that she gave him as she egged him into buying it-_

 _he remembers a little green flower, stuck in an orange tile pot, and he remembers the first time he noticed that look she gave him._

 _he doesn't say a word. but as he leans in to kiss her on the lips, he notices her wide, buck-toothed grin, and for just a moment he smiles back at her – not a smirk, not an insincere quirk of the lips, but a truthful smile. he's given her his answer._

 _he remembers._


End file.
